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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26118919">New China</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaands/pseuds/Anaands'>Anaands</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>New China [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Last Ship (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action &amp; Romance, Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 07:55:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,915</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26118919</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anaands/pseuds/Anaands</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of moments set throughout Season 3 that add introspection as to the nature of their relationship. Semi-Canon for now, though it will veer into Non-Canon quickly.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Tom Chandler/Sasha Cooper</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>New China [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2173398</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I fell into a deep rabbit hole during COVID watching this show, and the plot bunnies surrounding Sasha and Tom's relationship wouldn't let me be. I took quite a few liberties and re-imagined some scenes, others I simply added introspection. This is how I imagine their history, and how their relationship could have developed throughout Season 3.</p>
    </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>an. Revised on 3/21/21. Cleaned up lazy writing habits now that I'm less rusty!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>In summary, it took less than five seconds to conclude you'd never moved on. <em>Not really.</em></p><p>Less than five seconds to conclude you were still as taken with him as the day you'd first met. His name percolates in your mind, stomach does butterflies, anticipation making your insides churn. The reaction to seeing him again in all of his glory—in his Ceremonial Whites—threatening every piece of your hard-won control. Control perfected over a decade. The kind that helped you put one foot in front of the other, day in, and day out, amidst an apocalypse. A force that guided you here, entrenched within the Peng regime, standing on the opposite side of the room from the first man you'd ever loved. The only man to possess a power that matched your stubborn will. The only man who'd ever pushed you into uncharted waters...</p><p>The man you'd walked away from fourteen years ago.</p><p>You threw yourself into your career, moved to a different town, a fresh city, an unfamiliar country, every 18-24 months. Signed up for every commission possible. Pushed farther and harder. Filled your life with regiment, meaningless encounters, and every piece of structure the United States Naval Intelligence program could provide—an attempt to carve him out of your life. Went the path of deep-cover because it let you pretend. It let you hide. Sometimes getting so deep you didn't recognize where Sasha began, and the lies ended. It had been enough to forget you'd ever wanted more—<em>for a while.</em></p><p>By the time his eyes meet yours, you realize you're absorbed.</p><p><em>Still</em>.</p><p>Subject again to the full force of his magnetic gaze. And in a way, the pull is almost stronger now than it had been. Maybe because you know what it's like to be loved by Tom Chandler, and its a feeling you'd never quite been able to match nor replicate since you'd left. He'd always been attractive. Disarmingly handsome. Charismatic. Kind. Powerful, yet overwhelmingly gentle in his demeanor and delivery—the list of adjectives hard to define, but now? Now he possessed that which only life and experience could provide. He was distinguished and it was exquisite. It stole your breath. He'd grown into his features, strong jawline and high cheekbones more pronounced now he'd lost the buccal fat of youth. His hair cut short enough to hide its natural curl but still full and thick—though grayer than it had been. But his eyes—how expressive they were. The dimple of his cheek when he even so much as grinned… that hadn't changed.</p><p>"Cooper?" he'd asked. "Your married name?"</p><p>Your heart lurched, mind assaulting you with a memory held secret for fourteen years. It cut freshly against the old scarred wound.</p><p>
  <em>'I'd make you my wife in a heartbeat if I thought I could make you stay.'</em>
</p><p>"Believe it or not, I found love after you."</p><p>Kept it light.</p><p>Not a lie.</p><p>It was a different love—quieter. More subdued. The kind that made sense on paper and fulfilled your desire for companionship but didn't set the world alight. A source of guilt if you were honest. The knowledge that you'd deprived not only yourself but your late husband of the kind of love that ignites. The kind that left you breathless and raw.</p><p>"I was sorry to hear about Darien," you offered.</p><p>Also not a lie.</p><p>All you'd ever wanted was to see Tom Chandler happy. To see him achieve a life fulfilled just as he'd envisioned. Always felt not quite good enough for him. You didn't check any of the prerequisite boxes to be with a man of his ilk. It's the reason you'd left. Darien was nice. Kind, homey, and most importantly she was <em>there</em>. She was content to be the stay-at-home wife who raised his kids in the perfect house with a white picket fence and a two-car garage. You'd always known that was never on the table for you. Knowing still hadn't made it hurt less though.</p><p>Never did figure out how to cut ties with him. Physically yes, but never truly in your heart. Hadn't actively spoken to him for a decade but kept tabs from a distance. A fleeting check-in to see where he was stationed and what part of the world he was destined for next. A late-night Facebook session where you gazed at their picture-perfect family photos on Darien's page. Lost in the occasional throw of nostalgia—rare though. Only twice, after something flared up. A sort of morbid curiosity that compelled you to know what you'd walked away from. Those feelings always came and went, and you'd learned to survive with it. Progressed from brutally heartbroken and lost, to fondly cherishing your memories and how happy he'd made you for three years. Glad that he was happy and thriving with a beautiful family. Content with your distinguished career and ability to travel the world no strings attached—to live the adventure.</p><p>Maybe this was why. Maybe you knew, <em>somehow</em>, he'd come back to you—it always had felt unfinished.</p><p>You're not a believer in Fate, ascribing to reason and logic above all else. Largely un-in-touch with any kind of spirituality. Yet still, when you'd learned of the cure—and more importantly—the Naval Captain delivering it, your entire being had known it was him. Before the official reports, before everybody knew his name, you had been sure. Picked up on it three months into the thick of it listening for radio chatter. Desperately seeking anything that could indicate what to do next. Heard about a Russian ship that was looking for a Destroyer and a scientist, and your soul had known that he was out there. It told you to have faith. Told you to hold on and keep going.</p><p>
  <em>You were right.</em>
</p><p>It doesn't diminish the reality that you've somehow felt him as a continuous presence in your life. Always there, in the back of your mind. His voice and the moments you'd shared a consistent soundtrack within your head.</p><p>
  <em>Secretly.</em>
</p><p>You wonder if he feels the same—if he loves you the way you love him still. From afar and tucked into the back of his heart. Part of you hopes he does but the logical part knows he moved on a long time ago. Had a family. <em>Kids.</em> A spouse he'd never willingly leave, present circumstances included. That could have been you. Instead, you'd broken his heart, and that's why you're sure he hadn't thought about you much, if at all over the decade.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"So you'll be ok?" he urged quietly.</p><p>You smiled slightly. He'd insisted upon his man Wolf staying a few extra days, <em>'Just until I know it's safe.'</em></p><p>Asked you no less than three different ways if you had an exfil plan. Quizzed you on how Peng could have pulled this off in Vietnam. Let you know he thought you were about to become collateral damage and he wasn't comfortable leaving you here, with no secure coms and no flight back to the States. Asked you in no uncertain terms to get on that plane with him, <em>'Come back to St. Louis, we can figure it out from there.'</em> Asked because even though he was CNO, your orders came directly from Michener.</p><p>Tom couldn't order you to leave. If he could, he would have done that by now.</p><p>The way he'd looked at you on the tarmac though, leaving everything unsaid and yet spoken did make you wonder... How he'd stopped and regarded you, mouth slightly parted—as if he'd wanted to speak or do something different to what was about to be done. You recognized that expression all too well. It was the face of competing loyalties. The expression Tom Chandler wore when he had a duty to uphold and a mission to complete. A mission that directly conflicted with his need to be there for and protect the individuals he loved, and you'd seen it before. In Kosovo.</p><p>Maybe you <em>were</em> still one of those people.</p><p>
  <em>Unfinished. Always unfinished.</em>
</p><p>You got the message loud and clear. <em>'I'll come back for you.'</em></p><p>To your surprise—<em>come back</em>—happened less than five minutes later.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They'd just finished debriefing in the wardroom upon reaching Nathan James. Hitting as if from no-where, the last forty-eight hours of events caught up. She was tired, hungry, and sore. Had slept little before his arrival anyway. A bundle of nerves at the thought of seeing him again after all these years. Coupled with a day spent fleeing Hong-Kong and Peng's MSS, Sasha was left almost swaying on her feet. The rest of the crew made themselves busy, leaving the room quickly after being dismissed—all but her and Tom.</p><p>He stood stoically, arms still folded against his chest observing her like a hawk, stance fraught with worry and guilt. Brows slightly furrowed. <em>Brooding</em>. Saw the way her shoulders slumped. Took in the dried blood, so vividly red against the crisp white silk of her blouse, the spattering of it across her alabaster skin... she was trying not to show how tired she was, but he could tell.</p><p>
  <em>He could always tell.</em>
</p><p>He allowed himself the indulgence of fully regarding her without competing attentions. She looked good. The years had been kinder to her than him, physically at least. Perhaps a few more freckles and her face had leaned out and become more angular with age. Hands just as delicate as they'd always been, betraying her level of skill with a weapon and aptitude to dig in. Her hair was a little shorter than she'd kept it when they were together. It suited her. The way the layers framed her face gave a certain air of maturity over the slick, straight fashion in which he'd known her to wear it in the past... and her eyes? Well—they were just as piercing as he remembered. The most precise shade of blue he'd ever seen. Bright. Clear. Beautiful. And to his dismay, still dove straight to his soul.</p><p>"Why didn't you contact me?" His tone wasn't accusatory, quite the opposite in fact.</p><p>Sasha looked up at him then, sharply. Surprised by how forward and forthcoming he was.</p><p>
  <em>Why hadn't she contacted him?</em>
</p><p>She'd considered it many times since confirming her belief that he was alive. Played the scenario over and over again in her head, but always came up stuck with what she would say. Why he would want to hear from her at all. <em>'Hi, Tom. I'm calling because I never stopped thinking about you, even though I'm the one who walked away?</em>' or <em>'Congratulations on the promotion, I'm still alive by the way, not that you care?'</em></p><p>
  <em>No.</em>
</p><p>She'd made contact with POTUS as soon as she'd been able to establish a position within Peng's regime. Asked to remain internally anonymous—for safety, of course—and known given her observations in Asia, that time and circumstance would cause their paths to meet once again.</p><p>"I thought about it," she confessed. Fingers touching the desk, making contact with something solid to keep her grounded. "But what would I have said?"</p><p>His lips twitched, pouting slightly because <em>touché. </em>But he still cared for her. Surely, she realized that he would want to know she survived. These weren't exactly normal circumstances, hell, he'd received messages from lesser acquaintances of the past since delivering the cure. A message from someone that meant something to him would have been gladly welcomed. Been willing to walk away from it <em>all</em> if it meant being with her—she knew damn well how much he'd loved her. Surely, she didn't think it was possible he'd forget about that.</p><p>"That you were safe," he breathed. Pinning her with his eyes. Sasha nodded then, breaking eye contact and looking down at the table instead and then the floor. Inspecting the blue paint with flecks of white in it.</p><p>"I didn't know how, Tom." <em>Not after everything</em>. Inclined her head to make eye contact with him again. Hoping he understood what she was struggling to say. She'd never been much of a talker. Not one to wax lyrical about her feelings or weakness—especially when it came to him.</p><p>Tom's face softened, that beautiful blue pursued her frame again. Sasha was like air—always had been. Trying to contain her was about as good as trying to catch sand particles with a net. That's why he was so surprised to hear that she'd married. <em>Settled down.</em> Wondered what he was like, the man who'd finally tamed her. If she'd wanted kids with him, what his name was. What he did. He could probably find out... dig it up in the records that had been spared from before the pandemic, but that would be an invasion of her privacy—something that had always been deeply important to her. Tom pushed away the idea. She'd share those details with him in her own time.</p><p><em>Patience</em>. The only key to unlocking her secrets.</p><p>"You're tired. I'll have one of the Corpsmen make up a stateroom and find you some clothes. Get some rest." There was tenderness in his voice, and he straightened, unfolding his arms. Lingered for a moment before exiting the wardroom.</p><p>Sasha visibly slumped when it closed. There was no reason for it. No good reason for why he should still be talking to her with that tone. No way that the memories should be so fresh in her mind—<em>but they were</em>—and her heart was already beating again.</p><p>
  <em>Damn it.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was fucking infuriating.</p><p>His blood was boiling.</p><p>How was it that she was just as far under his skin as she'd been as his student? She'd been back in his life for all but five minutes. Called him Tom in front of his crew. Challenged him. Defied him. Spoke her mind. No one else would dare call him Tom. And damn him to hell, the way she said his name <em>did</em> something to him—<em>still</em>—it always had.</p><p>Knew his crew had picked up on it the second she'd stepped foot on this ship. Hell, even Jesse asked if they were sleeping together on the Helo. The last thing he needed was for them to lose faith in him, for them to sense his questionable impartiality when it came to her. For them to resent her for it. Hadn't missed the way Granderson bristled at Sasha's address, how the entire bridge had fallen silent, all eyes on him, waiting for him to react. To blow.</p><p>He was fuming, brooding as he stared outward toward the ocean. Hands wrapped tightly around the railing as he rhythmically clenched and unclenched his fists, inhaling the humid, salty air as the wind whipped by.</p><p>How could he do this?</p><p>How could he be responsible for her life, and his crews, but remain impartial when he was certain he couldn't withstand another loss like Darien. Wouldn't survive it, not again. <em>Darien</em>.</p><p>He missed her so much.</p><p>She was good for him—loyal and understanding. She made him her world, put him first, and the fact that he'd failed, for their entire marriage to do the same was not lost. It was the reason he couldn't sleep at night. The guilt—it ate him alive. But before there was Darien, there had only been Sasha.</p><p>
  <em>Sasha.</em>
</p><p>He was in trouble and he knew it. Knew it like the back of his hand. Felt it just as surely as he'd already mentally taken ownership of her well-being. She was a wild card—always had been. He couldn't control her, not really. Just as she couldn't control him—they were equal in that regard. On the same page that the job would never allow them to put the other first. Feelings aside. This exact scenario was why the Navy had strict fraternization rules. Nausea rolled in his gut. Once again, he was in the position of choosing to place her in harm's way. Required to ignore his every desire to keep her safe—not that she'd let him do that.</p><p>The simple facts were such: Sasha was right. She was <em>always</em> right. Of course, she, Green, and the team could handle a simple intel mission. <em>He knew that</em>. But Tom didn't trust anyone on this ship more than himself to watch her back.</p><p><em>Control</em>.</p><p>It was the only way he could cope with the guilt. At the very least, he needed to be there. He was responsible for every single soul aboard this ship, and the prisoners being held captive—there was no way he was watching from the sidelines. Not this time. The sarcastic '<em>Aye, Aye'</em> as he'd walked away rang in his mind. Fought to suppress the desire to furiously kiss that smart mouth just to shut her up. Like he would have in the past. Apparently, Sasha was just as she'd always been. Defiant, confronting, stubborn, and always needing the last word.</p><p>"Excuse me, Sir," a Corpsman appeared at his side. So absorbed in his vitriol that he hadn't even noticed them approach. "The logs that you requested," he declared, holding out a clipboard. Eyes slightly downcast—a sign of respect.</p><p>Tom breathed in, straightened his posture, and put his game face back on. "Thank You, Garcia." Gave a curt nod, indicating to the sailor that he was dismissed.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I took a lot of liberties with this scene, but it's just something that was stuck in my head. Tom seems like the type to hold onto things.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>She was waiting in his temporary quarters. Unplanned. Found her feet taking her of their own accord. Too damn scared to deny herself this time. Today, Sasha believed she would watch Tom die. The last person left alive from before. When she closed her eyes, he was there. Imprinted in her mind. She was shaken and her nerves were fraught though she was hiding it well. Didn't know if she planned to tell him this when he arrived, or just stare helplessly at him. But she had some time to figure that out. As she waited, she scanned the desk solemnly. Noting the mixture of goods. Most of them belonged to Captain Slattery, though a few of them were distinctly Tom's. Pictures of his kids, Darien. A bracelet that looked like it had been made by maybe Ashley.</p><p>It was as she was viewing the assortment of things that she saw it.</p><p>A picture of her. <em>Of them.</em></p><p>Her breathing stopped. An uncomfortable lump of emotion forcing its way up her throat. Delicate fingers reached out and carefully touched the unframed paper. The edges were thick and slightly curled as if repeatedly handled over the years. Crease marks present where it had been folded and unfolded, probably tucked away in a box, or carried in a wallet at some point. None of that explained why it was here though. <em>Now</em>. On this ship.</p><p>A candid moment caught haphazardly at a Bar, someplace out of town during a recreational weekend with one of their friends. A friend that had nothing to do with the Navy or anyone remotely close to it. They'd been so naïve to go out in public like that. Young, dumb, and invincible. Sasha blinked. Eyes suddenly watery despite her best efforts. <em>God the trouble it had caused.</em> It was the beginning of their end, but she couldn't deny how happy they'd been. Far too drunk and careless and unaware of its existence... Tom's free hand at her rear supporting her weight. Sasha's legs wrapped around his waist, right arm outstretched clawing at his while she tried to reach the pool cue in his hand. Questionable at best, but more than a precarious and very inappropriate moment captured between a superior officer and his subordinate, was his face. His god-damned beautiful face gave them away. Left any attempt to explain it as over-enthusiastic, drunk rough-housing frozen at the wrong time superfluous.</p><p>There was zero room for misinterpretation. He was looking at her like she was the world—<em>and she was</em>—she'd been everything to him.</p><p>
  <em>He kept it.</em>
</p><p>Sasha heard the handle turn and tried to collect herself, completely flustered. Features slipping into their non-communicative neutral.</p><p>Tom paused momentarily as he stepped through the threshold, assessing the situation before him. Scanning first for distress, not missing the slightly red-rimmed eyes and emotion lurking within them, before settling upon the picture in her hand.</p><p>
  <em>Ah, that.</em>
</p><p>He'd discovered it again while packing his house in Virginia. Somewhere between dealing with the fallout of Rachel's death, moving to St. Louis and a somber weekend spent boxing up Darien's things. Torturing himself with countless family photos while he grieved for his wife. He'd explored drawers and boxes of items that hadn't seen the light of day in years. Found it again in one full of mementos from his days spent training at Dam Neck and had felt warmth for what felt like the first time in months.</p><p>
  <em>Sasha.</em>
</p><p>Tom had hoped to find her name in the list of confirmed surviving forces, just to know that she was okay. That she was still out there somewhere living her adventure, but alas, he'd encountered no evidence to confirm that wish. Reasoned that she would have contacted him if she were. After all, he was now the highest-ranking member of the Navy. The entire military. Intelligence was all but gone. Other assets left in the wind when it all went down had checked in. And Tom knew her well enough to know she'd never abandon her duty—even when faced with the end of the world.</p><p>He'd transferred it to his personal effects—the ones he took with him on missions, along with photos of his family, the kids, Darien, his brother, sister, Mom, and Dad. Pictures he wanted to be sure would survive in the post-plague world. What he hadn't expected, was for her to find it so conveniently left out after a bout of guilt-laden insomnia. There'd been a lot of that lately. Hours spent staring at the faces of the dead, those he'd failed, and the face of the woman he couldn't afford to add to that list. Tom entered and closed the door behind him, coming quietly but purposefully to rest near her. Slowly, he leaned against the desk, legs crossed in front of him, and waited for her to speak. To reveal why she'd seen fit to let herself in.</p><p>"You kept it." Was all she said. Voice sounding soft and strangled, even to own her ears. World was too far gone to play games anymore, and they were much too old for that anyway. Had too much history to play coy or act dumb here. Tom had always been a straight shooter, it was her that liked to hide.</p><p>"I did," he spoke softly. "Could never quite bring myself to throw it out." His gaze was intense as it focused upon the delicate slope of her nose. The way her eyelashes framed that sharp blue. Studied her face, so fucking beautiful that it broke his heart. Always had. Sasha peered up at him, her brows furrowed with the effort of keeping her emotions within. She was failing and falling all over again. It was those goddamned eyes, they paralyzed her.</p><p>Her head shook gently, a physical attempt to brush it off. "So you've got a soft spot for me?" Breathed into the space between them, lips quirked into a half-smile. She'd always done that, tried to use humor to ignore the hard conversations. Words that meant or conveyed too much for her to handle.</p><p>His response was plain, almost scoffing as it came out, "That's never been much of a secret." Her attempt at lightening the tone with humor falling flat.</p><p>Sasha swallowed, looking down and away from his entrancing gaze. "That's why you put me on the Helo…"</p><p>"I wanted you protected, in case it went to hell," he confessed quietly.</p><p>She nodded. Still staring at the floor, fighting with herself. Settled for looking at the picture again, smiling sadly at it. Her thumb traced the paper in a wistful sort of caress. An echo of the past. Her statement simple and soft when it came. "We were good together."</p><p>Tom let it sit for a beat before quietly responding. "Yes, we were." Tried to keep the lurking errant hurt from seeping into his tone. The confusion over the softness he so often found in her eyes when she looked at him. Tried to reconcile it with the way that she'd left. How she'd broken his heart. Insisted he'd been wrong to think she loved him the same way. But such was the puzzle of Sasha, her words said one thing and her eyes said another.</p><p>She returned the photograph to his desk softly and licked her lips, turning to leave. Almost reached the door, hand outstretched to grab it before she snapped.</p><p>
  <em>Fuck it.</em>
</p><p>In an instant she was in front of him again, straddling his outstretched legs. Took his face between her palms and pressed her lips against his. Quick. Familiar, yet new concurrently. Lingering for a moment with one hand cradling his cheek, while the other trailed down to brace itself against his chest. Feeling his solid heartbeat thumping through the fabric of his uniform. Thrown immediately to memories of sharing his bed listening to it while he softly snored. Those quiet, stolen moments in the dark still vivid as if they'd occurred but yesterday.</p><p>She needed him to know and not question it. Needed to give him a sign that she wanted a second chance. That this was far from done yet. "I did not wanna lose you today."</p><p>She'd refrained, held back the desire to suck him straight back into the game they used to play. Stopped herself from making it deeper. Maybe it was the <em>'I'm sorry'</em> she'd been meaning to say for years, or at least a start. Or perhaps the promise of that explanation he'd surely deserved, and she'd never quite given. Either way, before Tom had processed, she was walking out of the door.</p><p>Before his mind could even formulate a response.</p><p>His head-turned of its own volition as he watched her leave. Had taken all his restraint not to grab her wrist and pull her back. Demand an explanation for what that meant. Why she had left. But he had a mission to complete, and they had always been an all-or-nothing proposition. He'd found that out the minute he'd taken her into his bed. Tom couldn't afford that kind of distraction right now. He needed to find Mike. His crew. The dedicated Sailors with whom he had the privilege to serve, and he couldn't bear the thought of getting her killed in the crossfire. Of falling completely in love with her again just to lose her to a stray bullet.</p><p>He couldn't handle it. He was fucking terrified of her being on this ship. Terrified of what he knew he could feel when it came to her.</p><p>Yet if today had proven anything, it was that he was far from the land of impartial when it came to her—<em>still. </em>Yes, he'd assigned Green to the Helo at the request of his team to protect Kara. To give Frankie the chance of one day knowing his Father's love. But his singular thought while formulating a plan—was to put Sasha on lookout. To get her the hell off the Nathan James in case it blew.</p><p>Tom wondered if the crew noticed. If they questioned why he spared the woman they barely knew. The woman who refused to address him by rank, who challenged him so explicitly where no one else would dare speak. The woman who drew his attention the second she occupied the same space. Who suddenly held a senior position within their crew purely because he deemed it so.</p><p>They had to wonder.</p><p>They had to doubt.</p><p>He wouldn't blame them if they did.</p><p>Tom turned back to the desk, scanning first the picture of them before settling on the framed photograph that Mike had placed by his monitor. Taken at one of the countless barbecues their families had enjoyed before the whole world went to shit. His gut churned—there was that guilt.</p><p>"I'm coming, Mike."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I imagine that Mike and Tom must have discussed Sasha and their history at some point. Particularly thanks to Mike's comment in Season 4 while he and Tom were fighting for Giorgio. This is how I imagine it being addressed. We also know by the next episode that Mike was told by Tom that Sasha is Naval Intelligence.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"So, Sasha's the girl, huh?" Mike asked, re-organizing his effects within his Cabin.</p><p>Tom was sat on the sofa, glad to have him back and enjoying the temporary victory. The calm before the next storm they'd have to weather together. Tom's lips pursed. Mike had seen it then. Didn't know why he thought otherwise. No matter—he was done pretending. Had been the moment he'd consciously chosen to approach her in the Helo bay in front of his crew. The need to touch her, to reassure himself that she was ok winning out.</p><p>Mike had noticed—he wasn't blind. It had been plastered across Tom's face when looked at her, hand resting upon her shoulder. Something he'd seen him do before with Darien.</p><p>Tom had wanted to do more, to take her in his arms and hold her. He couldn't cross that line but he did want her to know. To see that he cared for her still. A response to her vulnerability after the minefield and the conflict he'd seen mar her features when he'd ordered them to split up. How she'd turned and silently implored him to come back in one piece. Watched her leave the jungle with most of the rescued crew until he couldn't make her out any more through the trees.</p><p>"Which one?" Tom questioned, playing coy.</p><p>The tone of Mike's voice let him know dishonestly wouldn't fly. "The one you almost left the Navy for."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Sunday, July 3rd, 2011—Hawksbill Retreat, Shenandoah Valley, Virginia</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>
  <em>They were sitting on the porch of their Cabin Rental enjoying Cuban Cigars and Mexican Beer while their wives put the kids to bed. The perfect, normal, quintessential American weekend.</em>
</p><p>"<em>Have you ever considered leaving?" Mike asked, puffing on the cigar, blowing the smoke into the air.</em></p><p><em>Tom took a swig of beer and leaned back, response coming in a nostalgic sigh. </em>"<em>Yeah I did, a long time ago." Pictured coffee-colored hair, how it shimmered and reflected different colors in the light. Striking blue, eyes he'd never been able to forget. The thick black eyelashes that framed their perfect almond shape... the pretty freckles that dusted the bridge of her nose. Could still see the way her cheeks dimpled and the beautiful radiant smile. Still hear her voice and the melody of her laugh.</em></p><p><em>The silence stretched and Mike looked over at his friend. Clearly lost in deep thought with an almost sad little smile on his face. Huh. He bit and used the opportunity to rib him. Teased incredulously. </em>"<em>For a girl!?"</em></p><p>
  <em>It snapped Tom back to present, answering with a soft chuckle. "Isn't it always about a girl?"</em>
</p><p>"<em>Ok Fabio," Mike drawled.</em></p><p><em>Tom let out a sharp laugh before taking another swig of beer. Deciding it best not to elaborate more on the subject of past. A past that still to this day could sneak up on him and tug at his heart. Weakness that he hated himself for. </em>"<em>What about you?"</em></p><p>
  <em>Mike sighed heavily, dragging one last puff from his Cigar before snugging it out in his ashtray. "Christine wants me to leave."</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tom almost thought to ask how Mike knew they hadn't been talking about Darien that night. Forgot most of the time how deeply observant and perceptive he could be. "She's the girl."</p><p><em>My girl. </em>That voice told him.</p><p>Mike's eyebrows lifted as it dawned. Implication not lost when he probed, "And she's Navy?"</p><p>"Naval Intelligence… but yes, she's Navy."</p><p>Mike nodded in understanding. Mulling that little detail over for a few moments. "Never took you for much of a rule-breaker." There was humor in his tone, a half joke but the underlying conversation was there. There's no way they'd simply attended Academy together. Tom had to be ten years older than her, didn't take a genius to figure out the timeline didn't work.</p><p>Tom nodded and glanced down, interlacing his fingers while his elbows rested upon knees. "She was a valuable lesson. That I learned."</p><p>Mike considered the response, as much of an admission as he'd get. "Well, that was a different time." Tom snapped his head up, confusion at his brow. Mike bobbed his for a moment before clarifying. "As Captain of this ship, I'd tell you we have frat rules for a very good reason… but as your friend? You deserve to be happy, Tom and if I could have a second chance with Christine—I'd do it in a heartbeat. What are the odds—your girl winds up on Nathan James in the middle of Asia after the end of the world?"</p><p>Tom listened intently, hearing what sounded distinctly like a blessing to pursue a relationship with her again—in the middle of an all-out war with Peng. On a naval destroyer. While he was CNO. A recipe for disaster.</p><p>"Don't get me wrong, I don't wanna see anyone's bare ass on my ship… that's not what I'm saying." He seemed to struggle for a moment to find the right words. Finally finding them and looking at Tom sincerely. "You've been given a gift. Don't waste it."</p><p>Tom swallowed. Seemingly stuck, humbled and reminded all at once. Not one for sharing his emotions, he simply stood and clapped his hand on Mike's shoulder. Conveying how glad he was that they'd recovered him safely. Banged up and mentally worse for wear, but alive, nonetheless. Tom nodded almost imperceptibly at him, lips in a firm line. Eyes conveying the deep respect and gratitude he held towards Mike who returned the gesture for just a few moments before they both let go and straightened.</p><p>He placed both hands behind his back and moved to the door. "Get some rest, the crew will be glad to see you when you're ready."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sasha had been minding her business, roaming the p-ways when the urgent alert came over the intercom.</p><p>
  <em>"All hands be advised, darken ship!"</em>
</p><p>Her heart lurched in her chest. Embarrassed that at 37 years of age, she was still somewhat afraid of the dark. Her pulse quickened as her eyes strained for purchase, seeking something familiar—still far from a pro at navigating the twisted maze of interconnected hallways like the rest of the crew. She rounded a corner that she believed led to the bridge of the ship, hand holding the wall for guidance as she went. Couldn't see a goddamned thing.</p><p>"Finding your bearings, Ms. Cooper?"</p><p>"Tom?" She cringed at how relieved her voice sounded.</p><p>"Give it a minute, your eyes will adjust," he assured her. "Stand here."</p><p>Sasha felt his hand connect with her forearm, and he gently pulled her toward him, guiding her until she was stood at his side. That contact alone was enough to spark something in her, but when he didn't let go it started spiraling beyond her control.</p><p>An unfamiliar voice spoke. "First time on a darkened ship? Thought you said she was Navy Tom."</p><p>"Naval Intelligence doesn't spend much time on small boys—Captain Slattery?"</p><p>Still couldn't see a god-damn thing. It made her claustrophobic, tendrils of clamminess beginning to creep up on her skin. Felt Tom's thumb move in slow, back-and-forth motions against her forearm. <em>He remembered</em>. Slattery was discussing something tactical, but she was too preoccupied to listen, heart soaring in her chest at the realization.</p><p>Tom's voice was low like honey as he calmly explained what was going on. "Four Chinese ships are spreading out, looking for us. So far, we've done a good job dodging in and out of their radar sweeps using the island chain to mask ourselves. They haven't ID'd us yet."</p><p>Finally, her eyes began to adjust, his silhouette gaining detail against the blackened night.</p><p>"There you are." His expression was neutral apart from the warmth and softness in his eyes. The timbre of his voice. Tom squeezed her arm lightly, another reassuring gesture. "Now you can see me."</p><p>Didn't know why it should affect her so much, but it did, and Sasha couldn't help the way she gazed up at him like a schoolgirl with a crush.</p><p>"So then what's the plan?" she asked, hoping that no one had paid too much attention to their little exchange. Glad that the darkness concealed the deep flush of her cheeks.</p><p>"We hide," Slattery answered for Tom.</p><p>Tilting his head, Tom's eyes caressed her profile as he elaborated, "Right now our best offense is a good defense."</p><p>Sasha softly inclined hers in acknowledgment, trying to will the warmth in her soul to stop. "Hence the darkness."</p><p>He nodded. "Hence the darkness."</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sasha was tired of owning nothing. Though she was grateful to the crew for their generosity in providing her clothes, toiletries, and simple necessities like a hairbrush—she missed having things of her own. Her shoes were a half size too big, always had to wear thick socks to stop her feet from slipping. She had one bra and the underwire was poking her in the rib, and save from tactical gear, none of the clothes she'd borrowed fit right.</p><p>She was laying in her bed staring at the ceiling, had lost track of the number of hours she'd spent observing small imperfections in its finish. Studied all the cracks in the clear coat until she knew them by heart. It was the same almost every night. Hours spent dwelling, remembering, lamenting. Trying to dispel the past eighteen months from her mind… and the three years spent by Tom Chandler's side. With a sigh, Sasha glanced at the clock. It was early, <em>or late</em>, close to o-three hundred. Sleep would not come this way.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Tom stood on the bridge wing; his silhouette illuminated by the red lights behind. The early morning hours were his favorite by far aboard a ship. Always had been, but now more than ever, they seemed to be the only hours of relative peace he got. The temporary reprieve before the next burden arrived. He listened to the James as it sliced effortlessly through the water. The night was still, ocean like glass. The lack of wind and clouds combining to let the horizon melt away and a reflection of impossibly vast stars blanket the sea. Almost as if they were sailing through space.</p><p>Ironic, that there could be such abject beauty in war.</p><p>Movement caught his attention. Saw her walk across the lower deck to lean against the railing as she looked out like him. Before his mind could catch up his body propelled him inside. She was sitting by the time he made it, feet crossed precisely in-front as the wind made her hair dance. Fingers twitched with the need to run through it. Wondering if it still felt the same as he remembered.</p><p>She didn't turn her head when she spoke, and it almost startled him. "Beautiful, isn't it?"</p><p>Tom smirked—he was still ten paces behind her, and she already knew he was there. He came to rest beside her, and she looked up at him, a soft non-communicative smile at her lips.</p><p>"It is," he agreed. Gaze a little too intense and focused to purely be talking about the stars.</p><p>Her heart fluttered as it so often did around him and she gestured with a nod of her head to the spot beside her. "Sit."</p><p>Tom's eyes twinkled something boyish, and he complied with her request, mirroring her and clasping his hands in front of his knees. Shoulder to shoulder, but not touching. God he wanted to touch her. "What are we doing?" he asked lightly instead.</p><p>Sasha made eye contact with him through her peripheral and smiled contently. "Nothing."</p><p>Something wistful washed over Tom and his features softened. Felt the layers of pressure and responsibility fade until he was just a man, sitting beside a woman who'd meant everything to him. The one that got away.</p><p>
  <em>Nothing.</em>
</p><p>They sat in companionable, comfortable silence for a time until he spoke softly. "Can I ask you a question?"</p><p>She turned and contemplated him for a moment. Knowing without embellishment that she likely wouldn't care for the subject much if he needed to ask her permission. "Sure."</p><p>"What was it like—when it broke out?" He'd heard accounts, experienced firsthand the destruction in Baltimore, but it was one thing coming from civilians and another coming from someone as strong as her. She seemed so fine, so well adjusted. Like it just didn't faze her. He wanted to know why. Was it just that she'd moved on, or was it so bad she'd shut down?</p><p>Sasha looked away, debating how much she wanted to share. Took several moments to collect her thoughts while she peered absently at the horizon and Tom waited patiently. "Chaos," she whispered. "It was everywhere you went. At first, there were just… piles of bodies in the street. The hospitals were overrun so fast. It only took two weeks before they effectively collapsed. The doctors, the nurses—everyone got sick"—she paused—"people thought it was a bioweapon, no one knew what to do. They started sealing in entire towns—just hauling in dirt on trucks and blocking off roads. Left everyone to fend for themselves."</p><p>A bitter laugh escaped, and she tucked her chin, peering down at the black asphalt of the deck. "They didn't even try to evacuate the healthy. They didn't care who died. I got out as fast as I could and went to ground where it was less dense. Hid out in a rice-farming village"—chewed on her lip slightly—"The things people did to each other Tom… I saw a man beat a child to death for stealing food"—looked at him then sharply, something hard, cold, and broken in her eyes—"in the middle of the street and no one did a thing" —she swallowed—"I almost gave up."</p><p>Tom felt a chill run down his spine. The concept of her, <em>Sasha</em>, reaching her limit completely foreign to him.</p><p>"About six months in… I knew Chris was dead"—his eyes darted upwards—"my husband," she clarified. "I figured the government was gone. I couldn't hail anyone in the military. I couldn't get home. There was nothing left. I was stuck in a shack and everyone was dying around me…" she trailed off. Long enough that Tom was about to tell her to stop. That he was sorry he'd brought it up as he watched her clench her jaw and then grind it.</p><p>"The bodies, in the sun… sometimes I think I can still smell it on me…" her voice wavered now.</p><p>Tom felt a coil in his gut, not entirely sure anymore that she knew where she was because her eyes seemed to dart rapidly. "Sash—"</p><p>But she continued, cutting him off. "And then I heard Ruskov on the radio, talking about a Navy ship." Sasha turned her eyes toward him then, trapping him, calling to him like a place he'd once called home. "For some reason, I knew it was you. I know that doesn't make sense"—she shrugged slightly—"but I knew it"—a sad wistful expression colored her features—"figured I could try a little bit longer," she finished, turning her gaze toward the sea again.</p><p>Tom's brow furrowed, his features softened from their usually composed manner. Earnest and empathetic when he spoke, "I'm sorry."</p><p>Sasha frowned and turned back to him. "For what? None of this was your fault—you saved the world, Tom. I think you've done enough."</p><p>
  <em>Sorry for being too late.</em>
</p><p>When he didn't respond, she continued. "You did the best you could, but you were never gonna save everyone." It was soft and careful, knowing without words the burden of guilt he held over Darien.</p><p>Tom sucked on his cheeks a fraction. The way he did anytime the subject of his deceased wife came up, and hung his head, looking down at the deck. Suddenly it was more interesting than accepting her forgiveness. Sasha reached out and curled a hand around his forearm. Hoped it would provide the comfort he so quietly desired. "You know what I miss most?" she prompted, changing the subject. Tom looked up at her, curiosity at his brow along with a non-verbal request for her to elaborate. "Music."</p><p>His lips quirked a little, somewhere between a smirk and a smile. "Music?"</p><p>Sasha nodded, in the long hours spent unable to sleep, the one thing she missed most was music to drown out her thoughts. "Everything I had is in Peng's Mansion or back home."</p><p>Mentally, Tom scolded himself. How could he forget? She'd been chased out of Hong Kong with nothing but the clothes on her back. Though they didn't have abundant luxuries, at least everyone else had some personal items on board. He the things he'd packed for the weeklong trip. His laptop and cell, though it had no service, of course. Pictures, a bag of clothes... tangible, meaningful things to remind him just what he was out here fighting for. She had nothing.</p><p>Sasha squeezed his arm where her hand still rested before letting go and he hadn't expected how deeply he missed it. How much he wanted it back. "I miss Sunday night football," he offered.</p><p>She laughed softly. "I see you haven't changed."</p><p>He smiled at her. Eyes alight with that charisma and charm she knew he possessed. The kind hidden under duty and orders. It ached in her heart; he was so handsome when he smiled. Still took her breath away. She wished she could stop it. Stop the way her heart sang anytime he was near. How it pulled and reacted. Wished it didn't feel so perfect and right as they sat together for most of the night, in silence, and casual conversation until the sun showed signs of breaching the horizon, and she finally felt tired enough to sleep.</p><p>When she returned to her room the following night, she stopped in her tracks.</p><p>There, on her pillow, was an iPod and a simple note—<em>'Something to listen to'</em>—in his perfectly neat penmanship.</p><p>Her heart soared.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This was becoming a routine for him, Sasha pondered while they hiked the steep cliff. Side by side. Always. On every single mission that had the potential to become more than rudimentary. She was beginning to wonder if he told Green, Wolf, and Burk ahead of time to make room for him because there seemed to be a very distinct understanding that no matter where she moved, she was always sandwiched in the safest possible spot in the formation. Honestly, she hated it. Didn't need to be coddled.</p><p>When they swept an unsecured room—he went first.</p><p>When they crossed unsecured terrain—he went first.</p><p>When they encountered potential hostiles—he stood closer and slightly in-front, so he'd be hurt first if it all went south.</p><p>Unspoken. Subtle. Always protecting her.</p><p>She didn't need it—but she suspected it made him feel better, so she played along.</p><p>Of course, when the bullets had started flying, and their reluctant tour guide shot dead before their eyes, he'd flanked her immediately. Stood in the path of that firestorm and blocked her until she found cover behind a truck. Only then did he move to find cover himself. She was going to get him killed if he didn't stop.</p><p>When they made it back to the James with the evidence needed to tie Peng to the tampered missiles, Sasha decided to confront him. They were in the Helo bay, returning equipment to the ready tables and dismantling their weapons. Tom doing his part, though a Boatswain had offered. <em>'Just a body with a gun'</em>, as he called it. He stilled his movements as Sasha approached. Caught in the middle of unloading extra ammunition from his tac vest. He raised his eyes slowly in acknowledgment, waiting for her to speak.</p><p>"You have to stop doing that." Firm and straight to the point. She was pissed. That much he could tell.</p><p>Tom pursed his lips and set his things down, giving her his attention. Perfectly even-keeled. "Doing what?"</p><p>Her head titled with an attitude, not buying his shit for one second. Tom knew full well what she was talking about. "You covered me instead of finding cover for yourself." Her words were punctuated with a quirk of her brow. The eyebrow only quirked when she was furious, he remembered. Not one to shout or scream. Sasha burned cold.</p><p>Tom swallowed and looked down before resuming eye contact with her defiantly. He wasn't sorry, and he had no intention of denying it either. Exasperated by his reaction, Sasha shook her head and scoffed. For a forty-seven-year-old man, he could still be a petulant child. She fixed him with direct glare. "I can take care of myself. I don't need you, Green or Burk, to watch over me."</p><p>Left quickly after that while Tom pursed his lips and worked his jaw. Noting that Green was trying hard to pretend he hadn't overheard. So much for impartial, he thought to himself.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Captain, CNO, Shackleton is gone. No longer responding to hails. Not visible on radar." Gator announced.</p><p>Tom felt sick to his stomach—two of their ships were sinking to the ocean's bottom. They'd been played. His ears were still ringing from the blast, the tinnitus dulling the crew's sounds as they struggled to make sense of the mess.</p><p>Ultimately, this was his responsibility. Shackleton and Hayward were there on his command. Six hundred-plus sailors ambushed, excluding his own crew. He looked around the room, surveying the damage in the absence of imminent danger. Mike looked ok, a few scratches like himself but nothing life-threatening. Garnett was bleeding, looked like her eardrums had blown out. Gator was fine. Sasha… felt the arrhythmic pulse of his heart. He went to her; she was hunched over a console. She was in pain. Tom's gut coiled.</p><p>"You're bleeding," he informed. Heard the edge in his voice. Unable to stop himself, Tom reached out to inspect the cut on her forehead. Brushing back the hair that covered her right temple.</p><p>She tried to swat his hand away—"I'm fine"—but he grabbed it gently.</p><p>"Your hand," he warned, turning it over and brushing the skin.</p><p><em>Warm.</em> His hands were so warm, how the hell had she forgotten that?</p><p>"I'm okay—just a scratch," she assured him. Looking up and imploring with her eyes to trust that she would seek medical attention where appropriate. It could have been much worse. No doubt she'd be bruised and sore by morning. Rib a little tender having been thrown back and slammed into a metal corner, but she'd live. There was something though, something deeply fearful lurking in the depths of his blue when he looked her up and down a few more times before nodding almost imperceptibly. Forcing himself to let her go.</p><p><em>Cold.</em> She felt cold again.</p><p>"Sir, your head," Rios said, handing him some gauze before moving toward Sasha to look at her wound. Tom took the gauze and wiped the blood clean in one quick pass and settled against a console.</p><p>Six-hundred men.</p><p>And her.</p><p>He felt her eyes on him and glanced over. Observed while Doc Rios bandaged that hand, and she held gauze to her temple.</p><p>He was playing Russian Roulette with her life.</p><p>
  <em>How many blanks left in the chamber, Tom?</em>
</p><p>Six-hundred men.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"Sir, Captain Chandler is requesting a visitation with Ms. Cooper."</p><p>Maylen scoffed. Not more than 30 minutes had passed since he'd taken command of this ship, and he was already requesting her.</p><p>"Why does that not surprise me?" he mumbled out loud.</p><p>"Sir?" his Ensign asked in confusion.</p><p>He'd been on Nathan James for less than 48 hours, and he'd already witnessed a dozen instances of blatant disregard for the structure of command expected of them. This was a strange crew, of that there was no doubt. But he was genuinely confused as to why a former Navy Intelligence officer, with no rank, was afforded complete freedom on the ship, <em>and</em> the ear of the CNO.</p><p>Yes, she had valuable intelligence about the region, but this was something else that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Until breakfast, that was.</p><p>He and the senior leaders of his crew had been invited to dine in the wardroom along with Chandler, Captain Slattery, Commander Garnett, the Master Chief, and Cooper. What he'd seen was a leadership team who were either completely oblivious to the fact that their CNO was likely sleeping with someone in his present command, or who just didn't care.</p><p>By the time she'd walked in, her coffee was already waiting for her, prepared by Chandler and a seat left open—next to him, of course. When their food arrived, he'd watched in bewilderment as they wordlessly switched things on their plates. She, an extra piece of Bacon. He, an extra slice of toast—a different packet of jelly… her leftovers once she was done. A coffee re-fill without asking when he'd gone to replenish his, stirred very specifically with three sugars and a splash of milk. The way they sat closer than was customary, the knowing looks and softer timbre of voice when he addressed her than he used with others in the crew. He was acting like she was his <em>wife.</em></p><p>Maylen was at a loss. Dismissing the Ensign's question, Meylan responded. "They have 10 minutes."</p><p>No, he was not surprised at all.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>"<em>Tell me the goddamned plan."</em></p><p>Tom laid it out, every detail.</p><p>
  <em>"Okay."</em>
</p><p>Just like that, no questions, no retort… no mention of the fact that if they did this—if he was wrong—she'd be court-martialed right along with him. She'd lose her career, the thing she loved most in this world. Tom searched her eyes. "If we do this, there's no turning back. I won't be able to protect you if it all goes south."</p><p>A small, knowing smile curled. "I know, Tom. <em>I've got your back.</em> Hardly the first rule we've broken together."</p><p>He chuckled softly and returned the smile—there he was, she thought. <em>Tom</em>. The mood shifted from playful to intense. He was saying things again with his eyes that his mouth couldn't speak. Seeing now that maybe she had been with him all along… maybe he was right. She held his gaze, expression open and honest. Vulnerable. Something that Tom still thought of as a gift. For a long moment, they stayed that way, until a loud bang on the door made her flinch.</p><p>
  <em>"10 minutes is up!"</em>
</p><p>The moment was gone. She looked at him one more time, taking his resignation letter with her, and stepped through the door.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>They entered the wardroom together. Air heavy and thick. This was uncharted territory—bullets she could do, facing a foreign enemy? Walk in the park. But this? This had her adrenaline pumping and her palms sweating.</p><p>
  <em>What they were about to do…</em>
</p><p>Meylen peered up from the file, reticent and ominous. "Take a seat, please."</p><p>Sasha made eye contact with Tom—<em>here we go.</em></p><p>"Captain Chandler… before we begin, you're entitled to make an opening statement," Meylan instructed.</p><p>Tom turned his head. <em>No turning back.</em> Eyes meeting again, conviction shining in hers. He didn't want to ponder the swell in his chest.</p><p>"I've spent half my life in the Navy. Like you, I did everything right. Worked my way through the pipeline just to get my chance to lead. Nathan James was my first command. Suddenly… I was thrust into a situation that no one can prepare you for. The world was turned upside-down, and all the rules were thrown out." Tom stood purposefully, and she watched intently. Heart beating wildly in her chest.</p><p>"But… the Navy taught me many things"—he continued, pushing the chair back to its original position—"Most importantly, it taught me to adapt. I had to make some difficult decisions. God knows I made some mistakes. But never once did I waver from what I knew to be right. The core values that run through all of our veins. Honor, courage"—He turned to her then, directly holding her gaze<em>—"Commitment"—</em>in a softer tone, emotion filling her eyes—"And I served my sailors as they served me and as we all serve this great country of ours"—Tom paused—"I didn't ask for this. I could have taken this uniform off at any time."</p><p>Looked at her again, seeing the way she lifted her head in encouragement, the pride. He was born for this, that much she'd always known. But his words were simply affirming her absolute belief and understanding that this crew, that <em>she</em> would follow him willingly down whatever path they needed to go.</p><p>
  <em>"But I always believed in the work that we were doing as a team, and the decisions that I was making as a Captain."</em>
</p><p>Sasha glanced over at Meylan, wondering if Tom's words were having the same effect on him.</p><p>"And though my tactics changed to address an insane world… my resolve and my dedication to the Navy never faltered"—Tom pursued the Captain, making no attempt to hide the proverbial fuck you in his features as he finished resolutely—"I stand by my record."</p><p>The door opened, Meylan's expression registering shock. <em>Right on time.</em> Sasha smiled and joined Tom in standing as the Japanese pirates swarmed, quickly followed by Green and Slattery, who handed her a gun.</p><p>Meylan looked between them. "What the hell is this?"</p><p>Sasha turned calmly to face the panel assembled and stood firm in the line. <em>Damn near perfect. </em>Couldn't believe how excellently they'd pulled this off. No one responded but the message was clear. Alliances formed. Lines crossed and then drawn.</p><p>"I see," Meylan conceded. "This was never about your guilt or innocence." He looked almost disappointed. Like he'd wanted to believe the same way that she did, that Slattery did… that they <em>all </em>did in Tom Chandler.</p><p>Tom tilted his head. "You forced our hand here, Captain."</p><p>Meylan closed the file. Affixing Chandler with a remonstrate glare. "There was a moment today… where I actually had my doubts. Thank you for removing those for me," he deadpanned.</p><p>Tom towered from the opposite side of the table. Cool, calm, and collected as ever with the glory and weight of a devoted crew at his back. "When the chips fall, if I'm proven wrong, I'll face justice from a higher power than <em>you</em>."</p><p><em>That's right. </em>And she'd follow him into that hell in a heartbeat. Knew it now with a kind of peaceful clarity. She would follow him until the end of the earth if she had to. Weapon drawn, she rounded the table and approached the Captain's XO. "Come on, on your feet."</p><p>Meylan glanced sideways at her, shaking his head.</p><p><em>No</em>, he was not surprised at all.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There was no getting around it this time. The play was set. Tom was with Vulture Team, and Sasha on Cobra. She was the only one who spoke Mandarin, it had to be done. They were collecting their guns, loading ammunition in tense silence. Mike had worked with him long enough to know that something was wrong. Or rather, someone.</p><p>"Don't worry, I'll watch her back."</p><p>Tom froze and glanced sideways from his peripheral. The names of the dead and the failures that haunted weighing heavy and unspoken. He <em>would not</em> add her to that list. A small nod let Mike know he'd been heard and he let the subject drop quickly.</p><p>Five minutes till go time.</p><p>Tom couldn't help it, he walked into the room, and she was right there, quietly collecting her dive gear. Beautiful. Strong. He couldn't lose her. Could barely even sit with the thought or the concept. </p><p>The hairs on the back of her neck stood. Senses telling her that the eyes she felt on her belonged to him. She stopped what she was doing and looked up, taken aback by the expression he wore.</p><p>He wasn't even trying to hide it anymore. He was just standing there, stuck. Staring at her with a subtle reverence that made her heart leap through her vest—momentarily Sasha wondered if something had gone wrong. Approached him with a curious but soft look. Saw him inhale as she drew closer, something troubled cast over his handsome features.</p><p>Tom's eyes caressed her features as if committing details to memory. "Keep your head down."</p><p>Sasha heard it for what it was, a plea as much as an instruction. <em>Ah. </em>There were those butterflies again—he was worried about her. She softened and tried to reassure him without crossing a line. The very unspoken one. Something that wouldn't communicate more than they were ready for yet.</p><p>Made a promise to him instead. "On a swivel."</p><p>A fondness swept his eyes, a micro-expression of everything he couldn't say, the hint of affection that curled his lip—it was there for just a moment before he got control of himself again. Forced himself to walk away. They had a mission to complete.</p><p>
  <em>Mission always came first.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had two-weeks.</p><p>Two-weeks of limbo in which to exist. No Military, no Navy, and no United States. Just them, a few-hundred sailors and a 10,000-mile journey across the Pacific Ocean to get home… <em>whatever was left of it.</em></p><p>She was standing at the stern of the James taking it in, the golden hour—<em>her</em> favorite time of day at sea. Looking out onto the turquoise blue waters as the coast of Japan slowly faded from view. Jesse was gone. Couldn't make out the Helo on the horizon anymore. This was goodbye. It was quite likely Sasha would never see this place again in her life. Asia had been her second home for the better part of a decade. She'd carved out an exemplary intelligence career here, but now it was done. It was time; she was moving on.</p><p>She smiled softly and closed her eyes, soaking up the Sun's rays. It was the little moments these days that she lived for. Tom joined her wordlessly. Leaned shoulder to shoulder with her against the railing, barely an inch between them as they watched the sun fade into fiery orange.</p><p>After a time, she spoke. "I haven't been home since." Didn't need to elaborate, Tom knew what she was saying. He lifted his body and turned so that he was leaning on his left arm instead. Giving her his attention. That was one thing she'd always loved about him. He had a manner that could make you feel as if you were his world when he wanted. Did it with such grace, such ease. With little more than a subtle change in his body language and a particular gaze, Tom could hypnotize. <em>Suppose that's charisma</em>, she thought.</p><p>"Where's home?" Realizing now that he really didn't know anything about her life after him. Not more than a few anecdotes. She'd been married to Chris, and she'd been dispatched to Asia. That was it.</p><p>"Charleston. We'd just bought a house on the water in Mount Pleasant."</p><p><em>Charleston…</em> of course. Intelligence headquarters were there, so it made sense. He tried to imagine her then, carefree in a simple sundress. Maybe she'd let her hair stay wild, it was humid there after all. He loved when she did that—when she'd just stepped out of the shower, no make-up on, and her freckles were more pronounced, hair everywhere.</p><p>"More than a year since I left," she continued. "I doubt it's even still there." She sounded like she'd resigned herself. Just accepted that there was no hope left of recovering anything from before.</p><p>"Well, once we figure this out, we should go there," he suggested casually as if it were a given that they'd be sticking around.</p><p>The look returned had a sad edge. Couldn't put her finger on it, but something in her gut was telling her to tread carefully here. It couldn't just be <em>that </em>simple for them. It never was. "That sounds nice." She decided to play along with the fantasy. The one she had where they ran off into the sunset together, forgot the past fifteen years and had a fresh start. Standing here, on this deck with him now, as the wind whipped around them, and the salty ocean spray touched their skin—the Sun, bathing him in its glorious setting—she could almost <em>taste </em>it.</p><p>Tom smiled boyishly at her, his eyes gleaming and warm. She couldn't help it, his grin was infectious, and soon she felt herself breaking into a real smile. Something she felt didn't really happen anymore. One that bared her teeth and made her cheeks hurt after a while.</p><p><em>"What?</em>" she asked, slightly laughing.</p><p>"I think you just agreed to take me home with you, and we haven't even had our first date." He rose his eyebrows playfully at her in mock surprise, and laughter burst from her chest. The sound traveled in the wind and caught the attention of a couple sailors who looked awkwardly elsewhere.</p><p>"Tom Chandler, are you <em>flirting</em> with me?!" she shook her head bemused.</p><p>"Is it working?" Eyes caressing her features with fondness.</p><p>She simulated indecision, feigning dilemma, and played coy. "It's possible."</p><p>It was his turn to laugh, the sound like a melody to her heart.</p><p><em>God, she missed him.</em> <em>This. Them. </em>It hit her like a freight train all of a sudden, and just like that, the nostalgic sadness he often saw in her eyes crept back. At least he'd made her forget. Even just for a little while.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Warning Rated M</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>They had one week left.</p><p>They were adrift. Tom was a rogue agent at this point, with a crew of people who still believed in him, trying to get back to some semblance of home. He was just a man who was holding onto hope that the country he loved could rebuild itself again. Though the crew still executed their duties and maintained structure, they were given R&amp;R as much as possible. A time to reset, time for a reprieve.</p><p>It was in these moments that he fully recognized his addiction to her.</p><p>He always had been. Addicted, that is.</p><p>From the moment he'd laid eyes on Sasha, he hadn't the strength to walk away. Never would have acted on it himself had she not made the first move. Hell, they never would have happened <em>at all</em> had he done the right thing and been less weak. They ate every meal together, breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Found reasons to visit her between his shifts. When she walked into a room, his eyes found her. Made it a personal mission to make her smile at least once per day. When she smiled at him, it made him happy.</p><p>That was a dangerous word. <em>Happy</em>. Something he hadn't thought about being for over a year now. He was playing with fire, and he would get burnt. Of that, he was sure. But that had never stopped him before, not when it came to her.</p><p>She was reading a book when she heard a faint knock on her door. Glanced at the clock to find it was almost midnight. There was only one person on the ship who'd visit at this hour and already happiness bubbled.</p><p>"Come in."</p><p>Tom stepped through the hatch gracefully and closed it behind him. Sasha turned the corner of the page marking her spot and set the book down on the nightstand. She was about to speak, but the words died on her lips.</p><p><em>Oh</em>.</p><p>She knew that expression. He was looking at her like he was suffocating, and she was the air he needed to breathe. His eyes heavily intense, and lips parted slightly. Slowly, she rose from the bed and he felt his heart clench. In perfect clarity, he decided. He wanted to live. To feel. He needed her. In two purposeful strides, he was in front of her, his hands slowly approaching her face, intent crystal clear. A second later, he was cradling her head as he brought her lips to his, tilting her head up and to the right so he could kiss her with everything he had.</p><p>Sasha melted against him, hands holding him close. Her body responding to his touch like it hadn't in years, like it hadn't since the last time there'd been Tom. The surge of love in her heart was unbearable. <em>Why.</em> <em>Why did she still love him so much? </em>She felt one of his hands move from her face to the back of her head, fingers caressing through her hair as he held her. Ran hers over his chest, feeling the hard muscle under the fabric of his shirt. It was perfect. Wide. Firm. Strong. Familiar.</p><p>He was drowning—just like before. Enough that he actually forgot for a moment that this had ever been gone. The kiss turned fervent. Harder and faster than the languid and loving one he'd started with. He demanded her taste, he remembered it. Remembered her kisses, the feel of her body in his arms, stronger now than it had been, hips a little wider. <em>Beautiful</em>. She was beautiful.</p><p>It struck her suddenly. She wanted him. Wanted this… but there'd be no turning back if they crossed this line again. She was scared. He was terrified. But what more was there to lose? Why were they fighting at all if it wasn't to try and live? Her knees hit the back of the mattress, and she faltered—he caught her weight easily, lowering them down in a controlled, careful manner as he continued to kiss her senseless.</p><p>With his weight fully on top of her, settled between her legs, she could feel his hardness pressing against her core through their clothes. Didn't think she'd ever been more turned on in her life. Her body was fire under his touch. A strangled moan slipped from between her lips when his hips ground into hers and it signaled the precise moment, he lost all control.</p><p>"<em>Fuck, Sasha</em>," he hissed out between feverish kisses. Her hands were shaking as she tugged at his shirt. He helped her pull it up and over his head. Returned the gesture, hands spanning her stomach with ease as he helped her sit up slightly and pulled the standard-issue clothing from her body. His heart pounded, blood rushed, hands trembled and body hummed like a magnet trying to adhere. God, she had the most perfect pair of breasts, was just as stunning as he remembered. Kissed his way down her neck, taking the soft flesh in his mouth, teasing her nipple with his teeth and tongue.</p><p>She shuddered. So overstimulated that she was getting desperate. All she wanted was to feel him. The ache of missing him was unbearable. The ache of knowing what they had been, all they could be. She wanted to cry. "Tom, please," she breathed, her hands pulling at his belt buckle.</p><p>He didn't need to be asked twice. When he finally slid into her, it was like coming home. He groaned in satisfaction. Home. He was Home. She was so wet she was almost embarrassed. The way he filled her so good and so right that it caused tears to sting in her eyes. He started moving within her, steady and slow. Dragging out every sensation as far as it could go. She could already feel the pressure building, toeing the most tantalizing line between ecstasy and oblivion.</p><p>He closed his eyes in concentration. He was lost in her. She was everything to him in this moment. Could feel her tightening around him, her legs at his hips like a vice, driving him deeper. Her hand tangled in his short hair, head nestled into his shoulder, her breathy soft gasps tickling his ear, sending goosebumps down his spine. He was doing everything he could not to come, but he was going to lose that battle in less than a minute he was sure. He propped himself up higher, her head falling from his shoulder to the pillow, and watched. <em>Fuck</em> she was beautiful. His heart swelled with emotion. He loved her. He'd always loved her. He was <em>in</em> love with her again. His stable and controlled rhythm faulted, hips bucking as he started to lose control.</p><p>She gasped and her eyes flung open, already on the edge but when she realized that he was looking at her, when she locked her gaze with his—she fell apart. It started low in her belly, tantalizing pressure coiling within. Felt so much and wished she could tell him but all she could do was cry out his name as she came. No longer able to hold his gaze, her body arched up from the bed. Orgasm exploding through her body and making her shake.</p><p>He could feel her contracting wildly around him and felt himself reach the point of no return. Grasped her head, holding her to his chest so they were flush again. Groaned deeply. He needed to pull out, but her legs were locked around him tight, his body thrusting into her of its own accord at this point. She did something with her hips that changed the angle <em>ever so slightly</em>, and he was coming violently before he could help himself. He grunted as he spilled into her, his hips moving with every pulse. Felt them in his heart as she fluttered around him. Stayed that way until sense came back. The understanding of their surroundings.</p><p>Tom rolled them to the side gently, holding her to him, and kissed her forehead. Started smoothing her hair affectionally. Tears stung her eyes. Fuck she missed him so much and it had never been clearer that she'd found her person all those years ago.</p><p>He was still inside of her and he didn't want to leave. It was a tight squeeze on the mattress made for one, neither of them could be defined as short but they made it work. He felt her shiver when the aircon hit her bare skin. Pulled the blanket up around them from the foot of the bed—awkwardly moving in a way that allowed him to stay connected to her. He tucked it around her back while she dozed into a satiated sleep, head resting on his chest. This was how they were always supposed to be, he thought. Even after everything, she still felt right. Still fit next to his body and into his heart as if by design. He closed his eyes. Let himself follow her.</p><p>They could have this night.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Tex Nolan had mixed feelings being back on this ship. Especially now, stood in the Helo bay that used to house her Lab. He'd meant it when he told Tom he blamed himself, blamed them both for her death on their watch. Rachel. He'd also meant it when he told Tom he'd forgiven him, just not himself. It wasn't fair to put that on the Captain. Tom wasn't the one in love with her. <em>He was.</em></p><p>Tex knew Rachel was sweet on him—the Captain that was—hell, Tom Chandler was such a badass even he had a slight man-crush. Rachel was a beautiful, brilliant, determined woman. Intelligent enough to see that Chandler wasn't about to move on from his wife. Not that soon. That his career and commitment to Darien took precedence. That the Navy, in a way, was the true love of Tom Chandler's life.</p><p>Tex understood that better than anyone.</p><p>He'd lost his own wife to 'the job'. She'd divorced him, tired of being second best, tired of him being gone more than he was home—it was a hard thing to explain. But once you were in, once you'd fought on the front lines with your brothers in arms, once you'd seen someone lay down their life for their fellow man—there was no going back. They all belonged to a very select group of people who fully appreciated that bond. That kind of unconditional love and loyalty. Rachel hadn't quite understood that. The regiment, the traditions, the routine. <em>Naw,</em> all that just pissed her off. It was too stuffy for her.</p><p>It was hard to be the one left behind if that same patriotism didn't bleed through your own veins. This Sasha girl though? That dynamic puzzled Tex. She meant somethin' else to Tom. Didn't know what at first but he'd picked up on it. Something in the way they moved out on the field like they'd known each other for years. Kept having silent conversations with simple looks. Anticipated each other's words, actions. The way the Captain's eyes lingered.</p><p>
  <em>"She can handle herself?" A question as much as an observation to his friend.</em>
</p><p><em>Tom leaned back casually against the truck's bed, and Tex saw the pride when he answered. "With the best of em."</em> —<em>no doubt.</em></p><p><em>"Good." Tex nodded. Didn't want a repeat. Yes, she was a badass, yes, she could handle a weapon, yes, she could fend for herself. But at the end of the day, Tex was still a country boy at heart, and there was nothing he hated more than the thought of a woman getting hurt on his watch</em>—<em>not how he was raised.</em></p><p>Watching them now, chatting away in their own little world… he could see it, plain as day. A lot had changed in the eight months he'd been gone. Tom must have said something funny because the way she was smiling at him was beautiful. And the content grin on Tom's face, the soft look in his eye, told Tex everything he needed to know.</p><p>
  <em>That boy loved her.</em>
</p><p>"Dad, mind your own business." Kathleen reprimanded.</p><p>He chuckled and stood up. "Whoa."</p><p>"Don't forget your extra mags are in your right pocket, not the left." She told him.</p><p>"Yes, Ma'am," he said, cocking his gun and loading a round in the chamber—ready to shoot. "Any more advice before we head downrange?"</p><p>"Kick some ass."</p><p>He smiled proudly. She was his greatest accomplishment in life. Loved her to death. He leaned over and kissed his daughter on the forehead. "Roger that." Walked to the other side of the room to grab a couple more things, eyes wandering again despite himself. They were still deep in conversation, gazing at each-other like lovestruck teenagers. Tex smiled. <em>Good for him</em>, he thought. He deserved to have someone after all they'd lost.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>"<em>I'm not sending Cobra Team in without backup. They'll never make it past the front gate!"</em></p><p>They were dead in the water. His blood ran cold, and he felt the color drain from his face—there was only one play left now. Tom picked up the headset and sank slowly into his seat. This was bigger than them. Bigger than him, it was the mission. He<em> knew </em>this.</p><p>"Cobra team, we are still under attack and have lost fire control. The only way to stop the UAV is to take the White House. Can you breach without backup?" The pregnant pause told him everything he needed to know and the bile rose in his throat.</p><p>On the ground, Sasha looked at her team. Kara. Burk. It was up to them now. They silently agreed. This was their stand, the end of the road—they were either in, and by God, they'd figure it out—or they'd die trying. "We can do it. We found their weak spot. We'll radio when it's done." Didn't know if that lie was meant for him or for them, probably both.</p><p>Tom stared into the distance… he'd just spun the revolver and held up the gun. <em>How many bullets left, Tom. </em>"Roger. Out." He took the headset off, mouth dry as a bone. Turned absently to his XO. "Set EMCON, condition Alpha."</p><p>
  <em>Bang.</em>
</p><p>He'd have to wait to find out if the chamber was empty.</p><p>"Once that elevator door opens, there's no turning back." Sasha saw it in their faces. They were ready to die with her for them—for it all.</p><p>Tom's heart was pounding. Counting in his head, seconds, which turned to minutes while he hoped to a God he wasn't sure he still believed in that she wasn't already dead. He guessed the only relief would be that he'd die too if she failed. They all would. He wouldn't have to live with the guilt but that was the coward's way out, and he was not a coward.</p><p>It was fucking chaos. There was no plan. Just an all-out desperate attempt to shoot and not get killed—the men were coming from everywhere. All of a sudden, she was hit, propelled sideways by a gut shot she hadn't seen coming. Her ribs screamed in protest, saved by a sat phone. <em>Keep moving.</em></p><p>"Three more missiles incoming!" Lt. Cameron Burk warned.</p><p>Tom delivered the order. "Fire, fire, fire!"</p><p>They'd hit their target, but now they were out of ammo. Cameron spoke again. "That UAV's got at least two missiles left!"</p><p>"C'mon Sasha," Tom encouraged under his breath. As if mentally willing her to succeed could make it so—would change their odds. As if she could hear him from 2,000 miles away.</p><p>It went quiet. The UAV was in the drink… maybe, just maybe—the plan had worked.</p><p>"Last stand!" Carlton Burk hollered as they huddled behind desks. They'd saved the James but there was no way they could save themselves. Settled over him in that moment that he could die happy with that.</p><p><em>I'm sorry Tom,</em> she thought.</p><p>"Break EMCON, try Cobra team," Tom commanded. He leaned against a post for support, waiting… one minute stretched into two, two into three, three into four… Granderson repeating her attempts to hail his crew. He could hear the blood pumping in his veins as the static chatter over the radio rung true. He turned to his Lt. and she shook her head. She'd tried to hail them longer than she should have anyway—for him.</p><p>Because he wasn't ready to confirm for himself what they all knew. Cobra team was gone. Tom crumbled, closing his eyes shut tight. Let his head fall as he leaned there, defeated. Air forced from his lungs and struggling to breathe.</p><p>He killed her.</p><p>He killed Kara.</p><p>He killed Burk.</p><p>He killed them.</p><p>She was laying, dead or dying on the ground 2,000 miles from him—<em>and he wasn't there.</em></p><p>
  <em>He killed her.</em>
</p><p>No one moved an inch, the silence and depression heavy and thick in the air.</p><p><em>"Nathan James, this is Cobra team on Navy Red, over."</em> His heart skipped a beat. Head snapped up, suddenly there was air again. Looked at the ceiling where the speakers projected her voice in wonder. Relief. Air. Love. Wasted no time in picking up the red phone.</p><p>"Cobra team, Nathan James. <em>You saved our ass</em>… I'm not gonna lie, we sure are glad to hear your voice." <em>I thought you were dead. </em>He could feel his hands shaking.</p><p>
  <em>"Head on a swivel."</em>
</p><p>He made a face in understanding. A promise—she was badass and he was proud.</p><p>
  <em>"The White House is secure."</em>
</p><p>Couldn't see the way she held that radio her chest, nor the smile that pulled at her lips.</p><p>It all went to shit twenty minutes later.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Four hours.</em>
</p><p>Four hours since Allison Shaw made that call.</p><p>Four hours since she played her final hand. Tom's <em>kids</em>.</p><p>If Sasha was honest with herself, she'd never been more scared for him in her life. He would sacrifice himself without blinking an eye for his children—any parent would. They'd stood there for 3 hours and 23 minutes at that airstrip, trying to come up with options while Tom was in the air. At an impasse. Unable to move forward without jeopardizing the safety of his children. It was a stalemate—<em>match point.</em> She wanted to tear Allison Shaw apart with her bare hands.</p><p>Sasha saw it pouring from him in waves, in the way he responded. He wasn't in the mood for options—that much was clear. He was getting on that plane, he was surrendering to Shaw, and he was going to die doing it, and he <em>didn't care</em>. She felt like she couldn't breathe.</p><p>"<em>I'll go in with him, provide back up while Kara</em>—<em>" Tex made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a snort, Sasha frowned, her head turning sharply toward him… what the hell?</em></p><p>
  <em>He shook his head staring right at her. "Ain't no way in hell he's lettin' you get on that plane with him." He dropped his head to peer at her above the rim of his sunglasses, driving his point home. She fell silent. The words stuck in her throat. Looked around at them all. Green, Kara, Mike, Meylan, Burk… she could see it in their faces.</em>
</p><p><em>Mike glanced at her briefly and spoke up. </em>"<em>Agreed."</em></p><p>
  <em>She squeezed her eyes shut, chewed on her lip before bowing her head. She couldn't argue because she knew they were right but none of them understood exactly what she was about to lose. What he meant to her… Her hands started shaking, heart beating double time. Fuck. Breathing heavy as she looked anywhere but at them. Trying to come up with a solution rapid-fire, trying to ignore what she knew to be true. He'd lose his mind if she put herself in harm's way like that on-top of his kids being compromised. Probably order them to sequester her over letting her anywhere near it.</em>
</p><p>"<em>I'll go," Tex volunteered. "She don't know me from joe dirt on the street</em>—<em>can use that to our advantage." She peered up at him then, she was fidgety and restless, jaw working overtime. He felt for her, he really did. </em>"<em>I'll keep him safe. You have my word," Tex told her directly, sincerely. Her nostrils flared as she breathed, her lips pressed firmly together so hard they were white. Finally, after a few seconds of desperate eye contact, she nodded her head. One sharp motion</em>—<em>she'd concede.</em></p><p>Tom looked sharply at Green when Kara stepped forward—he couldn't ask this of him. Couldn't ask him to risk is wife and mother of his newborn child to save <em>his</em> kids, but a prolonged look let him know that this wasn't up for debate. They weren't asking for permission here—he was being told.</p><p>His eyes shifted to Sasha then. She looked pained, she looked tired… beautiful and sad, and everything he loved about her. Hoped that she understood. He had to do this; this wasn't a choice to leave her. Hoped that she'd be okay without him, she was strong—she'd live, Sasha always landed on her feet. He on the other hand… She inclined her head in a subtle jerk—a signal to move forward.</p><p><em>Go</em>.</p><p>
  <em>Go before I can't let you.</em>
</p><p>He blinked and turned away. That might be the last time he saw her. "Let's go."</p><p>As soon as Tom turned her eyes started filling with tears. Blinked the emotion away as best she could and quickly moved to her position. <em>She couldn't breathe.</em> Her entire body was trembling. "If that plane takes off, we're never gonna see him again." She hated the way her voice wavered. How panicky she sounded. <em>Stop</em>, she told herself.</p><p>"We have options" —Mike reassured her quickly—"we get the kids off, do what we gotta do."</p><p><em>Fuck!</em> She screamed at herself, adjusting the gun and counting slowly in her head. A tactic that he'd taught her years ago in training, something to help her regain focus. Panic for the specific amount of allotted time before she shut it all down for the mission. Five seconds.</p><p>
  <em>Five. Four. Three. Two. One…</em>
</p><p>She breathed deeply and settled her gun; she was ready.</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>By the time Sasha made it back down to the tarmac from her perch, Mike was already in the plane. He was crouched in the hallway, solemnly observing the scene before him. Her eyes settled on the bodies in the room, Tex one of them, and then Tom—her heart fell. They had a term for how he looked during war—the thousand-yard stare. Skin clammy and pale. Looked like he was about to throw up as he stared brokenly at the dead body of Tex.</p><p>Sasha swallowed, nudging Slattery lightly to let her through. Handed him her rifle. Mike stood and looked up at her, silently communicating that he didn't know what to do. "Give us a minute," she whispered. He nodded sadly, taking a moment to look at Tom again before taking himself and her gun off the plane.</p><p>The moment he stepped off, Burk and Green were at his side, urgently awaiting an update. "Tex is gone," he informed them solemnly. They both hung their heads. Green let out a frustrated and despondent noise. One full of anguish—<em>was it ever going to stop?</em></p><p>"And the Captain?" Burk urged.</p><p>Mike's face was set in a grim line. "He's gonna need a minute."</p><p> </p><hr/><p> </p><p>Judge, jury, and executioner. That's what he was. A hypocrite. A<em> murderer</em>. He hadn't even been able to honor his dying friend's last words. <em>'You're a good man.' </em>Good men didn't do this. Good men didn't get people killed. Good men didn't persecute someone for murdering the scum of life on the Earth to save the human race and then turn around a kill someone because they were having a bad day.</p><p>"Tom…" Her voice was like honey and fire at once. Simultaneously soothing yet burning him. She knelt down beside him and gently took his face between her hands. "It's <em>okay</em>. Your kids are safe, they're with Kara, they're waiting for you."</p><p>He made no indication that he'd even heard her. She dragged her thumb across his cheek. Commanding softly. "Look at me." Tom lethargically turned his head and eyes towards her, finally focusing on her face. She always looked so perfect, not a single hair out of place. The corners of her lips formed a soft and encouraging smile at him. "It's over."</p><p>His eyes fluttered, scanning her form and the position they were in as he made sense of what was going on; they got stuck on her tac vest.</p><p>His heart skipped a beat.</p><p>His stomach rolled.</p><p>Yet another wave of nausea came.</p><p>There was a fucking bullet hole the size of a slug to the right of her midsection. Straight through her Sat phone. He groaned, an anguished noise between disgust, frustration, pain… He'd fired that last bullet, he realized, it had barely missed her and had hit Tex instead.</p><p>He was <em>done.</em></p><p>He wasn't going to play Russian Roulette anymore.</p><p>Sasha gripped his face tighter, running a hand through his short hair, trying to calm him. "Shhh, it's done." Drew him closer as she soothed the pain. "It's done." Felt his weight lean into her, nearly sending her off balance from her crouching position. She sank down awkwardly, legs tangled with his, and held him. His head resting against her cheek as he slumped into her. Felt his arms wrap around her torso.</p><p>Tom closed his eyes, allowing himself the moment of weakness. Allowing himself to cling to her. His father was gone. He let out a shuddering breath and felt her hold him tighter still. Giving him every piece of strength that she had. Could feel her shaking or was that him? Sasha couldn't help the tears that had started falling silently from her eyes because she felt it. Knew it. Gut screaming at her.</p><p>
  <em>She was losing him.</em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>
    <em>Three hours.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>That's how long she'd been standing there after watching him go. Frozen to the spot. Not yet believing that he was gone. That he had left them; not three weeks ago, he stood on this very ship and spoke of his commitment to the cause, to their nation, to his crew.</p><p>
  <em>'I stand by my record.'</em>
</p><p>He didn't even look back. She was in shock. Been grinding her jaw for hours, and it stung. This devastation inside of her, so potent she couldn't respond. He kissed her, but it was different. It was <em>goodbye</em>.</p><p>She wanted him back.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Mike walked through the halls, the sadness was suffocating. The weight of their loss heavy upon him, of the task ahead, of the daunting and impossible gauntlet that was filling Tom Chandler's shoes—an impossible feat.</p><p>He stepped into the pilot house, the sun was setting now, and she was still standing out there.</p><p>"Captain on the bridge," Lt. Granderson called. He could tell by her voice that she'd been crying.</p><p>He looked apprehensively at her, around at his sailors, as they looked back at him. He didn't have words to comfort them. He didn't even have words for himself. "Carry on," he said meekly.</p><p>At six hours in, he tried to approach her. Cleared his throat to make sure she heard him—didn't want her to startle. She was leaning against the hull, weight on one shoulder with arms folded and ankles crossed.</p><p>"Ms. Cooper?" She didn't even blink. She'd heard him of course, just had nothing to say. No energy to go through the motions. What was the point?</p><p>"I uh… I know you cared about him—" Her head turned so sharply towards him that Mike actually jumped. The expression that she wore chillingly devoid.</p><p>"Please don't." Detached. Aloof.</p><p>Mike looked at her sheepishly, bowing slightly at her request. She turned away from him again and resumed her position.</p><p><em>We need you, Tom, </em>he said desperately to himself as he walked away from her.</p><p>At some point, she sat. Knees drawn to her chest and back stiff against the cold metal hull. Hadn't consumed anything in over twenty-four hours. Probably why nature hadn't called yet. Kept thinking about their last moments together as she'd packed up her gear in the Helo bay. When he'd come down to see her. To send her off, <em>just her.</em> Stood and watched with that look that used to mean he loved her while she basked in his stupid jokes. As they reminisced about joint operations they'd done in the past.</p><p>Maybe he'd come back?</p><p>He just needed a few weeks to process what happened, and then he'd check-in, and eventually come back again. Even if he didn't rejoin the Navy, she could still see him between missions. It would be difficult at first, slow going, but he'd be in her life. That's what he'd wanted right? Why else would he sleep with her?</p><p>So why were her insides so cold—why couldn't she shake the absolute feeling of dread that she was never going to see him again? Why could she feel it in her bones? Why did he kiss her <em>goodbye?</em> Why didn't he ask her to go with him? Why didn't he say he'd be back, that he just needed time...</p><p>
  <em>Because he's gone, Sasha. He left.</em>
</p><p>She started the cycle again in her head.</p><p>At ten hours in, Mike sent for Doc Rios, entirely at a loss. "I think she's having a breakdown. I don't know what to do."</p><p>Finally, she was back inside. In her room with medication the Doc had given her—just to help her sleep—he'd said. Sasha froze again, his iPod was still on her bedside table.</p><p>She died inside.</p><p>Hollow and cold, and alone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>One month gone.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>No one had heard from him. President Oliver had sent a copy of a full-pardon and a reinstatement order to every authority left in the fleet. It seemed he wasn't the only one holding out hope for Tom Chandler's return. Hopefully, he was feeling at least a little better by now? Now that he'd been able to slow down, spend some time with his kids, and process the past eighteen months.</p><p>They'd probably hear from him in the next few weeks, Mike assumed. It seemed like he was in agreement with most of the crew. Though they missed him dearly, they were all hoping their Captain was taking the time he needed and working his way back to them. In fact, many outright believed it. Russ Jeter was one of them of course. He had absolute faith and certainty that they'd hear from their Captain in a few short weeks.</p><p>Sasha, on the other hand… she did well at keeping herself busy, but now that he was paying attention, Mike could see how expressive her eyes were—kind of like a book that broadcast what she was feeling to anyone who bothered to look. He saw the disappointment every morning when she came to the wardroom, and her coffee wasn't there waiting beside him. Saw the way she stared at the chair where he'd always sit—the chair which they all refused to occupy. Caught the haunted expression that crossed her face if anyone mentioned Tom's name.</p><p>They were delivering food, rations, and supplies across the states. Working on controlling the riots in a joint effort with all four branches. She spent hours at night, pouring over logistics, so much that Mike wondered how her eyes didn't bleed. She'd lost at least fifteen pounds, could barely eat—and she was a slim woman to begin with.</p><p>He didn't tell her, didn't want to get her hopes up just to crush them again, but he'd started putting feelers out. With every contact he had. If anyone spotted Tom Chandler, he needed to know. He knew his friend needed time but he also knew him well enough to know that he wouldn't want her to suffer this way.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Three months gone.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Their new reality had started to set in. It was easier to get on for the most part, especially for those who hadn't been close to the Captain. Those holding out hope were beginning to get uneasy though, the beginnings of doubt spreading its way insidiously through the ship's corridors. Maybe it was time to start worrying?</p><p>Mike had heard nothing. Not a goddamned thing from anyone and they'd looked. The whole country wanted to know where he'd gone. <em>Where the hell are you, Tom? </em>Mike sighed and puffed on his cigar, blowing a smoke ring into the night air. She was out there again. Standing in the spot. He caught her out there almost every night now.</p><p>He decided to be brave—it was time to talk. She heard him approach but didn't bother to turn her head. She wanted to be alone with her thoughts.</p><p>"He told me about you before, you know"—he started—"about four years ago now." Sasha glanced at him. <em>That</em>, she hadn't expected to hear. "I asked him one night if he'd ever thought about leaving the Navy," he elaborated, smiling slightly at the memory. "Should have seen his face. I thought he only looked that way about Darien—but he looked that way about you too."</p><p>Mike clasped his hands behind his back while she stared at him. Well, he had her attention at least. "Listen, I uh—I don't know all that happened between you two. But you should know, I'm here if you ever need to talk." It was a little awkward but sincere none-the-less.</p><p>She was grinding her jaw again, the way she seemed to do when she wanted to stop herself from crying. She didn't say anything. Her eyes left him and went back to staring out at the ocean—like she always did. Simply put, Sasha<em> refused</em> to acknowledge anything that dealt with Tom Chandler. </p><p>After a long stretch of uncomfortable and unnerving silence, he admitted defeat. "Alright then, goodnight."</p><p>His back was turned to her when he finally heard her speak. "I didn't want kids."</p><p>He turned back to her, confusion on his face. "Excuse me?"</p><p>"That's why I left him… before," she clarified. Her voice sounded scratchy like it was underused. Which it probably was. She really only spoke when required to, and only ever about work.</p><p>Mike was confused but relieved that she'd at least said something. His eyebrows rose to acknowledge the information. He wasn't sure if she wanted him to stay or go, but it didn't feel right to leave after such an admission. After he'd <em>finally</em> gotten her to respond to something.</p><p>"I'm glad he found Darien. He always wanted kids and I didn't want to keep that from him" —she paused—"I only ever wanted him to be happy." The ghost of a sad smile twitched across her lips. He stood closer, placing his hands on the railing too. Listening to her. "I just hope he's okay. Wherever he is, I hope he's happy." Her eyes glistened, reflecting the light of the stars. This was the moment in which he started to understand Sasha Cooper.</p><p>She'd been with them now for over six months, and most of the crew knew nothing about her. She was an enigma, mostly kept to herself. Everything they knew about Sasha, interfaced directly with Tom—they'd been damn near inseparable when he'd been on the ship. He knew her character had to be sound for his friend to still care that deeply about her. She'd proven her loyalty time and time again. Never complained, held her own, pitched in, and was strong. But now, for the first time since meeting her, Mike saw first-hand how <em>good </em>she was.</p><p>"Me too."</p><p>They stood together in a more comfortable silence then. It was a foundation, a bridge. It was probably something she needed, she thought. She was glad he'd persisted—she wasn't sure how much longer she'd be able to go it alone.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Six months gone.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Trouble was brewing again. Crops were turning red across the country, across the world. Apparently, the red-flu had jumped ship and started infecting plant-life instead. <em>Crops.</em> There were concerns about a famine. The British had sent a former Royal Navy Commander named Fletcher to join their crew. They were about to deploy on a mission to track down some kind of seed that was supposedly immune. If Tom was coming back, now was the time. The crew was losing faith. If he was honest with himself, he was losing faith too. Maybe he really was gone.</p><p>Either way, for peace of mind, for closure and clarity… they needed to see this through. No leads, no sightings—nothing.</p><p>He'd requested two days of personal leave for both he and Sasha and they were headed to Tom's old house in Missouri, and his other in Virginia. Mike knew there was no point in checking the Cabin—he'd told him he'd never set foot in that place again. Missouri was a bust. There was nothing there, his stuff was gone, and someone else had moved in.</p><p>Virginia? Well… that was even worse. It was completely ransacked. Windows were smashed, the door hung off its hinges, it had clearly been looted—whether in one of the riots, for supplies, or simply because—they had no idea, but Tom wasn't there. He hadn't been there for a long time.</p><p>He'd seen it—the precise moment she gave up. Watched while she sank slowly until she was sitting on the porch steps, looking in horror at what had become of his house. She <em>couldn't</em> cry. Funnily enough, she hadn't at all, not once since he'd left and that scared her.</p><p>"He's gone, Mike." Her words had a finality to them that he wasn't ready for.</p><p>"<em>Dammit, Tom!"</em></p><p>She put her head in her hands; he could see them shaking as she clasped them behind the back of her head. Tucking herself into the position you'd take when hyperventilating. She felt like she was having a heart attack.</p><p>
  <em>He was gone.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Twelve months gone.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>June 29th—a day she would do <em>anything </em>to forget. The bleeding had stopped, but the pain carried on. The days were mostly okay now, so consumed with the mission that she simply didn't have <em>time</em> to miss him—the nights on the other hand?</p><p>They were brutal. She'd lost count of the number of times she'd seen him in her dreams. Dreams where he came back, where he called. Sometimes so fucking vivid that she actually believed it was real when she woke up for a few torturous moments. Thought he was back or that he hadn't left at all, until her sleep-deprived brain corrected itself, and she figured out which was reality. She died all over again every time that happened.</p><p>This ship was like a tomb. His ghost haunted these corridors, sometimes she could still hear him, shouting orders in her mind—on their missions. Still felt the ghost of his lips every time she looked at her bed, the feel of his body against hers. She was honestly concerned she was developing a level of psychosis.</p><p>She got out of bed—headed to the spot. She knew Mike thought she was torturing herself, but he had it wrong. It was the only place she didn'tthink. It was the only place that it stopped. It was the place where she simply turned herself off completely and became nothing.</p><p>
  <em>"What are we doing?" he asked.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>"Nothing," she smiled.</em>
</p><p>Sometimes she still expected him to appear when she rounded a corner. To be standing there, reviewing reports, always knowing every time she was near and pausing to look up at her. Even Jeter had finally given up hope.</p><p>Her heart hurt <em>so</em> bad.</p><p>She needed to move on, she knew that… she just didn't know how. Maybe she could start with Fletcher. It was obvious he was interested in her. Painfully so. He wasn't her type, but the one thing that played in his favor was that he was the complete polar opposite of Tom Chandler.</p><p><em>Let go, Sash</em>. She told herself. Closing her eyes and leaning her back against the hull.</p><p>
  <em>Let go.</em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Fourteen months gone.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>Mike looked at the picture, the one taken at that BBQ. He was beginning to think his friend was dead. He didn't know who to share it with—Sasha was <em>finally </em>starting to look and sound like her old self. He couldn't burden her with this. She'd started seeing Fletcher, and he though he didn't get it, he was just happy she was moving on. Doing something else. She'd even stopped going to the upper deck every night. He still caught her out there sometimes but not nearly as much.</p><p>"I miss you buddy." Mike nodded his head and continued on. Turning the desk light off and going to bed.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>Sixteen months gone.</em>
  </strong>
</p><p>She didn't know why, but something about this island wasn't right. She couldn't shake the gut feeling that had been nagging her. It was different from the one she got when she felt like they were walking into an ambush, different to knowing the mission would be a bust… she couldn't place it. Just knew something was going to happen.</p><p>They heard the jeers, curious as to what had drawn such a rowdy crowd. Adrenaline wreaking havoc on her system. <em>What the hell was going on with her? </em>The hairs on the back of her neck prickled like they always had when she'd felt his eyes on her. The air caught in her lungs. She did know this feeling. Her eyes snapped directly to the center of the arena.</p><p>Heart stuttered and skipped several beats.</p><p>
  <em>Tom.</em>
</p>
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